and when
I fall in love
with you
again,
it is all over,
pain and
frustration
again,
like a promise
for changing
the same
again,
if I can beg
for the sun
and the rain
again.
Posts Tagged ‘Love’
0
Pennywise as a Lover
Posted: August 30, 1993 in PoetryTags: Beach, Blue, Eye, Love, Ocean, Pennywise, Salt, Sand, Sea, Tide
when I am away
I know that I am in love
with you,
with salts and breezes
from the ocean
that would go well
with your blonde hair,
helium balloons
for your big blue eyes,
dripping sandcastles
in the reflection of the sun
on the sealskin sand
of the tide on the beaches.
and I am the mist
that crawls in off the old pieces
of the sea that were caught
in tidepool fishing nets last night;
I come wrapping, a stole
around the necks of the cliffs,
rising up from the beach,
heads sheared off like
so many broken Michaelangelos.
As you go
I don’t know
where we stand
or how close you feel
to what I feel for you.
Sometimes this stands me still
wherever I am,
especially playing the piano.
I will suddenly think of you
and your mind,
then I wonder if I’m ever going to see you again.
If I’ll be able to touch your face,
hold your hand,
and be able to tell you I love you with my eyes.
I wonder how cold time can be
to the single struggles of a sometimes hardship friendship…
Gut Feeling
Posted: July 13, 1993 in PoetryTags: Angel, Animal, Cigarette, Dream, Forest, Love, Sleep
Sometimes I can’t write poetry;
I know this so I don’t try.
so I’ll listen to you stomp around
and play your Steely Dan CD.
I’ll lay on my back, look at the ceiling,
and smoke my cigarette.
Then I’ll dream my best poems
and never write them down,
just wander through them
like a forest of different overstuffed chairs,
like a choir of angel’s hymns.
falling asleep with you mad at me
is something I’m getting used to.
I hear your stomach muttering in your sleep
and I’ll know you’re still wondering
how much I love you.
lighting another cigarette end to end,
I let you know I’m not asleep
if you’re listening.
that is if you’re listening,
behind your stuffed animals,
under the comforter.
Two Ten Penny Nails
Posted: July 1, 1993 in PoetryTags: Clouds, Frog, Halo, Heart, Hope, Love, Sky, Wings
I know that my heart rests while I slog
Through glaciered halls that know of no such frogs.
I tire and watch my halo and my wings;
They start to melt away like borrowed things.
The nails sunk through my heart like lovers’ frowns
Reach steely through the clouds into the ground
Below me where they drag out furrows that
Can chart my weaving course without a map.
As long as I can flutter through the days
Of filtered sunlight, jellied skies and haze,
I hope that somehow I can be rebuilt
To use these Cupid’s arrows well as stilts.
The Prince of Spring
Posted: May 31, 1993 in PoetryTags: Fire, Fountain, Girl, God, Gold, Love, Man, Prince, Princess
for all of my twenty years
I have had one healthy fear:
that Love will find me cold and dry
for being a Prince and held so high,
but my heart longs for fiery blood,
wide-open eyes and Love, true Love,
not courtships played to gain the hand
of the Princess with the tracts of land.
for Love that fountains from my soul
for the heart of a girl who’s honest, whole;
someone to Love me and someone to share
all of my fears with; someone to care.
for I am no better than any man.
a Prince or a Pauper, the same we stand
in God’s eyes you’re worthy or not,
it doesn’t matter, the gold you’ve got.
Love is life’s most precious thing,
even for me…
…the Prince of Spring!
for I am the Prince of Spring.
for I am the Prince of Spring.
for I am the Prince of Spring.
like an addiction, an Indian
– scalped me and I liked it
without my hair to hide behind
naked and bare to the attacks that never came
from between your ears,
just soothing fingers
which gripped my arms for a moment
and then let go like a diver
leaving a springboard.
Cliffs Look Good in a Certain Way
Posted: April 30, 1993 in PoetryTags: Damn, Earth, Grass, Green, Grey, Love, Ocean, Sky, Woman
the most damnable thing
is that I’m wistful, how it could have been;
a cliff by the ocean, powdery earth
and a fistful of the tough grass
to keep me from falling
into a grey-green sky;
an ocean with waves and tarnished sparkles
to lap at the leaden bluffs
where I first remember dreaming
of being in love with a woman.
somewhere I have left a coal,
a cancer, burning; fond memories
concerning my love for you
and I am loathe to stamp it out
or fan it into flame.
there is a sadness in my eyes;
they’ve watched the indecisions
that make me so utterly human
– this is how I make the time
that is worn on my face.
now you move in your unconscious arts
soaked like rain through every pore;
your love for your form
is inconcievably lovely,
believable, beyond me –
transforming, like a dress worn
for a special occasion:
a fantastic ball or a secret liason.
Untitled Poem #160
Posted: April 29, 1993 in PoetryTags: Beer, Friend, Joy, Light, Love, Smoke, Untitled
what is life without a smoke and a beer
freely given and freely recieved
like the love from your friends?
life’s little joys to be consumed
and forgotten in the moment.
happiness tends to be transitory
like the light zipping past you from the sun
or one smoke and one beer when they’re done.
a spray of flowers
erupting from a glass vase
is a frozen firework
of love from you.
Imitation of the Goshin Traveller’s Spell
Posted: April 16, 1993 in PoetryTags: Bed, Fire, Love, Night, Spell, Star
“I invoke thee,
thou diamond fiery very majestic star”
from your bed of night-pillows
and molten stardust;
your gaze may guide my deerlike footsteps
through the overgrown gardens
of my lover’s distrust.
Where You Are in the World
Posted: April 13, 1993 in PoetryTags: Dreams, Love, Mind, Night, Rhyme, Sleep, Star, Sword, Tree, Warrior, World
a star winked out in the nighttime sky
and did not return my love
as I cast into the heavens;
a sword standing still
riding my mind like the hip of a warrior.
one oboe quietly mediates the tree’s disputes
about who is shading who
as I am walking through.
there is no medium for art
like the dreams dreamed when all alone
and happy with where you are in the world.
writing to be poetic, prolific
I sometimes wind myself soporific
scratching at the paper making nothing terrific,
just words that rhyme
a line at a time or three
cavorting in silent melodies
like those oboes, sleepy in the trees.
If I went blind from loving you
I could see all my pictures more clearly;
My mind would make up for my lack of sight
And although my eyes would be black as night
I would love you all that more dearly.
and I never thought that I was one
to spend all of my time writing dumb
things about being in love with girls
and how they mean more than the world
to me and even then some…
Untitled Poem #155
Posted: March 20, 1993 in PoetryTags: Cry, Dark, Heart, Light, Love, Untitled, Wood
I
now I know I love you
when I heard you sad because of me;
I realize things too late
and make due with writing poetry
to read or think on when
I cannot call or hold you with me;
my thoughts may wander briefly
but I will always love you truly.
II
when did my heart become so armored
that I couldn’t feel a thing?
like what I do or say to make you hurt
and never feel it sting me like it should.
did I disremember to knock on wood
when I found that I was enamored with you?
all I know is how you were curt
and I knew that I had made you cry;
I felt stupid not knowing why.
III
in the darkness
of being insensitive
perhaps I will light
my way with my task
of understanding
what I always
do
wrong.
A Sunrise over the Phone
Posted: March 19, 1993 in PoetryTags: Butterfly, Drum, Heart, Love, Star, Sun
I am the anvil that rings
with each hammer falling,
a star impacting, exploding, desiring, denying
that I love so deep, so much;
I feel when I hear you hurt, your voice
like butterflies in my ears,
the tautness of a drum
within my heart.
what to think of the world anymore/is a serious question like a toothache/
or this sore throat/or the nagging love for someone who’s gone/I
don’t understand any better than the next person/they point to
me and say “poet” and nod their heads/at explanations that
I give them without numbers/no graphs, no statistics/poetry
is the science of one:/one person, one point, one opinion, one
truth/and if you ask me, of course I will answer/I am not nor
have a mouthpiece for any concept but me/my thoughts alone
are science/my dreams are mathematics/my rambling, philosophy
and rhetoric/my palms, hammers/my paper an anvil to forge
truth/my pen, the sword, dragonslayer/I am poet, hear me roar.
Yelling and Screaming About How Good I Am in Bed
Posted: March 1, 1993 in PoetryTags: Ape, Bed, Caterpiller, Dog, Eagle, Eye, Frog, Love, Pen, Power, Song, Storm
I
I am the poet that you long for.
I have powers seething in my pen,
Poems and poems as a storm-whipped sea,
Songs that make you forget to breathe.
This is the something to love, not fall for;
Pedestalled I glitter but don’t grow.
You don’t want to watch, you want to know
How I will surprise you again.
II
I have been elected a poet
While you have been chosen
As something equally important,
Perhaps a poet, too –
It all depends on you.
III
I was once a caterpillar, once a dog;
I was once an ape, then an eagle; once a frog,
But always you could tell by the
Shining eyes that it was me
Figuring out what I was supposed to be.
I’ll change again into something else,
Something new – write a poem or two –
Maybe I will try to be you, but
Remember, I remember who I am now
And who I will always be: myself.
Salvaging Laura from the Trash
Posted: February 28, 1993 in PoetryTags: Death, Dolphin, Fear, Laura, Love, Trash
you tried to throw your poetry away
but I have discussed it thoroughly
with your own Dolphin
and the conclusion we came to
is: no way.
we found it together
in a pile of papers
sticking out of the trash
that I casually looked through
to see if you’d done
just this type of thing.
love letters I never saw,
things you never spoke of,
I never knew half of what you thought.
I see that you fear just like me.
I see that you think of death as a seductress.
I see that you feel; you’re a poet unrivalled,
and
I
see
you
think
it’s
trash.
Interview With an Angel
Posted: February 22, 1993 in PoetryTags: Angel, Dream, Faith, Fear, God, Halo, Hate, Libra, Love, Man, Wings
no wings, no halo,
no beatific expression
of heavenly rapture.
on interviewing an Angel,
he scratched his head
and was most like any other man.
I’m five foot eleven,
one hundred and forty pounds
(give or take five for the season)
no, there’s no particular reason
I should be renowned
as an Angel from heaven.
by the way, I’m a Libra.
I just do the best that I can.
that is angelic.
I love and hate and fear,
I learn and hurt and feel.
but to the best of my ability,
with the tools God has given me;
other than that I’m just a man
struggling with the rest of my kin
to keep faith with the Angel within
and to dream.
A Dolphin and a Dinosaur
Posted: February 22, 1993 in PoetryTags: Blue, Dinosaur, Dolphin, Fa, Grey, Love, Spike
Fa and Spike lie side by side
A Dolphin and a Dinosaur.
They are full of love; the same size,
And blue and grey together.
Untitled Poem #147
Posted: February 11, 1993 in PoetryTags: Dream, Fire, Light, Love, Time, Untitled
I can only know
that time will tell me when
I can be in love again –
meanwhile, what do I do?
love has struck me down
and lifts me higher and higher
each day is consumed in fire
but I’m not quite sure for who.
I am a poet – I dream
and emotions may come easily
but this flood is confusing me;
I’m not sure what is right.
this horrible uncertainty
an important indecision
melting myself with derision
but not shedding any light.
To be a DJ
Posted: February 10, 1993 in PoetryTags: Ass, Butt, Coffin, Cry, Dance, DJ, Eye, Flesh, Groove, Laugh, Light, Love, Men, Mind, Music, Records, Smile, Song, Time, Turntables, Vinyl, Women
the DJ comes with a lot of power: the President,
me (the good one) surprises and pleases
eliciting happy yells smiles and sighs from the crowd;
it is all for me.
I see faces light up as they soak with sweat
dripping shaking moving all around,
recognition of another song loud and in your ears
smashed into your face by 1000 watts;
they’ll dance harder than the last song,
move faster, become natural.
people stop listening and start feeling
the rhythm bumping along, house style, steadying
while the dancers elaborate
or flips to a fill-in breakbeat; the New Jack Swing
where you just try to prevent your butt from moving
or suddenly the song makes you cry
or sweeps you away in an enthusiastic mosh pit
or brightens your your eyes with something
you haven’t heard in a long time.
some DJ’s get stuck in one record groove
but the best surprises always compare and contrast
yet find a common thread that dancers’ bodies understand
but that I’m at a loss to explain.
what to spin next turns into the most important decision in the world
and it will be like this until I have to choose the next.
my head reels from the network of songs to choose from:
this beat would fit, this sentiment would meld,
this intro would trip, this track overwhelm
when you’re dancing, flashing colors of flesh
I’m mixing sweat and body heat
I mix you together – you whirl with my turntables.
eyes fly out of the mass of movement,
catch mine and flash like the strobelight.
I lean over to catch an excited request
to straighten my precious stacks of wax,
screams as someone recognizes what I’m playing:
playing with them
watching their reactions.
my emotions flow through my hands to the vinyl;
you can tell what I feel by how well I play,
drunker on you than on the 40s in my crates.
I turn your music up beyond hearing
and you feel it;
supportive
moving you –
you translate it to your ass your hips your hands.
the more you feel the more you learn.
learning to dance, learning to love someone new,
learn to understand what I’m saying.
I’m backed up by the best talent I can find,
be it the PE, Madonna, Fishbone, Dead or Messiah
I free your mind with my many voices.
and I’m dancing as hard as anyone,
fingers searching through record sleeves
caressing beats to match, speeds to coincide,
boogying between the coffin and the crates.
searching carefully for any sign of discontent
remembering what people want
giving myself up to the group good time.
here, women shimmering with sweat
recognize and close their eyes;
the groove is a lover, a beat
that chases between their thighs, over their stomachs
and up their spines;
unconscious every one is beautiful, so hypnotized.
here, men swirling around throwing arms in the air
touching the ground on time, on time.
intent on dancing, on laughing, on glancing back
at those girls I’ve just described.
every person I can find I train my recorded charisma on
cajoling with individual requests
urging on with the party songs
twirling all of this sound and poetry into a rumpus room
out of love for you.
Froggacuda's Weblog 